


We Are the Dead

by claroquesi



Category: Dredd (2012), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1984 Fusion, M/M, Techienician, gay shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claroquesi/pseuds/claroquesi
Summary: Matt is an Outer Party Member. Techie is a prole. When Matt gets a new job, he’s sent to patrol the proletarian quarters, where he meets a small ginger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HHhH this is my first techienician fic!!!! I’m reading 1984 for the thousandth time and since I love this ship I was thinking,,,, why not an AU? So have the first chapter of this mess!!!

Matt’s eyes flickered open as his telescreen let out its early morning screech. He heard the leader of the Physical Jerks call out for the thirties to forties group. There were about fifteen minutes until his own age group would be called. He rolled over and slipped on his thick glasses so he could see his crappy apartment better. Dim lighting, ratty carpeting, mold in every crevice, what more could he ask for? Matt sat up and stretched his long limbs before standing up. He shivered in the drafty room before making his way to the cramped kitchen. The bitter coffee’s scent protruded into the air as it was poured into his mug. He took a long swig as the disgusting slosh retained its high temperature. He enjoyed the moment as well as he could before his telescreen called: “teens to twenties range! All teens and twenties!” 

Matt set his mug onto the counter and walked over to the front of the telescreen. The woman projected on the flat metal surface wore a plain set of track pants and a matching blue shirt. Matt plastered a grin on to his face so the telescreen could register that he was enjoying this ridiculous workout. Matt enjoyed working out but the Physical Jerks were too early and grueling for him. “Comrades, join me and stretch like this,” the woman said and stretched upwards before bending down to touch her toes. Matt imitated her and pulsed in his position. After, the lady made him do some burpees and jumping jacks before the session ended. The next section was called and Matt retreated to take a cold shower. The victory soap was dark and gritty, somewhat like sandpaper. But it got him clean. He shaved and thought about the day to come. He worked at the miniluv: the Ministry of Love. Everything that happened in the Ministry of Love, stayed in the Ministry of Love. He was a guard for the prisoner cells, where they kept Eurasian spies, thoughtcriminals, and rowdy proles. Only those deemed the most orthodox were trusted to work here. And Matt was one of them. He was lean, muscular, loyal, and competent; or so he hoped others thought. 

The water was frigid and Matt shivered into his ratty towel. He dried his toned torso and hair as best as he could before slipping on his party member regulation shirt. He dried his legs as best he could with the damp towel before slipping on his worn overalls. He slipped his pack of cigarettes into his messenger bag along with a few Victory Notes and his Ministry of Love identification pass. Matt shivered as he trotted down the stairs of Victory Mansions; it was an ugly and cold March. He lived in London, a small section of Airstrip One. A half hour ride on the tubes would drop him off in front of the Ministry of Love’s looming building. It scared him, that huge and towering building. There were no windows, and nobody but him and a select thousand knew what went on in there. A thousand was minuscule compared to the entire population of London, much less all of Oceania. 

The gritty dust that swirled in the London air nearly got into Matt’s eyes of it weren’t for his thick glasses. He followed every other Party member on their morning commute. The tubes were crowded like always, and Matt had to hold onto the straps hanging from the ceiling. It was rather uncomfortable and awkward due to his wide frame trying to squeeze between others.   
“Solo!” someone called from outside the tube when it had stopped and Matt had stepped out.

He turned to face his coworker, a certain comrade named Phasma. 

“Good morning,” he said and contorted his face into a fake smile. 

He knew Phasma was unorthodox and he didn’t know how she landed a job at the Ministry of Love.

“A chilly day, eh, comrade?” she offered as a try at conversation. 

Matt was pretty sure she had been sent to forced labor camp some years ago. The only thing that mattered was that she would be vaporized in less than a year. She knew it, he knew it, everyone that knew of her knew of it. This made it just that much more terrible for her to talk to him; doing so would raise suspicion and attention to himself. A seemingly orthodox party membre speaking to a convicted thought criminal? It just didn’t look good. 

“Yes, it is rather brisk for March,” he passed through the turnstile to access the street. 

She followed him into the Ministry of Love without another word. Once inside, they parted ways for different levels of the building. “See you around, comrade!” she cheerily waved to him and Matt returned the gesture. He slipped into the lift before the doors shut. There were twenty other people inside with him; some Inner Party and some Outer Party. The air inside the lift was stagnant as it brought them higher and higher up. Slowly, the lift emptied out until Matt was left with five Inner Party members. There were four more flights until his level and he felt all of the members’ gazes in his back. 

“Are you comrade Matthew Solo?” one asked.

Matt turned to them. They had dark brown hair and darker eyes. He stood shorter than Matt by a solid foot and he had a growing stubble on his face. 

“Yes…” Matt said, his heart thumping in his chest.

Why did this Inner Party member know his name? Why did he know what he looked like? What did he want from Matt? The man smiled up at Matt. 

“You’ll be hearing some good new today, right comrades?” he asked the others in the lift. 

They laughed and each gave a different version of “yes”. Matt was broken out of his dumbfounded stupor by the ping of the lift. It was his floor. He turned to leave and said, “thank you, comrades…” as he left. What could that have possibly meant? Matt would have to wait to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did that Party Member mean? Here's an explanation  
> Is there Kylux in this? Vaguely  
> Do we meet Techie? Not quite  
> .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... don't know what I'm doing. At all. We have to get through some dirt before Techie appears. comments + kudos are appreciated <3

He was on the 200th floor. There were lockers for other security personnel like himself in which he threw his messenger bag into. Before slamming the door shut, Matt shoved his Victory Notes and I.D. into the various pockets of his overalls. The linoleum floors glistened under the fluorescent lighting. The bright white lights seemed to hum in the same tone as a horror movie crescendo. Matt swiped his card into the slot and walked through the turnstile. Past that, there were other Party members distributing the black uniforms and truncheons Matt had to adorn and carry each and every day. He was next in line and so he stepped up to take the clothes and weapon when he was stopped. “1616 Solo, M?” the attendant asked him from her lower seat. “That’s me,” he answered with a small nod. “Take these and please head to room 212, comrade” she said curtly and handed him the neatly folded jacket, bulletproof vest, pants, and truncheon.

Matt turned to leave and found all eyes on him. If he was correct, room 212 was something like a conference room. Nothing, he hoped, like room 101. He slipped on the jacket, pants, and vest before looking for the room. The corridors of the Ministry of Love were immaculately clean for what happened within. Matt had lost count of how many traitors’ skulls he had bashed his hobnail boots into, or the amount of bones he had smashed with the deadly truncheon. All in the name of the Party. 

Matt arrived at the shiny metal door with the plaque announcing that this was, in fact, room 212. He pressed his sweaty palm against the cool metal to open the door. Within it was like he had imagined: an oblong glass table with swivel chairs surrounding it. At each chair sat a different Inner Party member (he could distinguish this from the black overalls they wore) that had their eyes glued to where he stood. The lights above seemed to hum louder than ever, and if Matt thought about it hard enough, it was deafening. He walked through the doorway completely and shut the door that closed with a definitive click. 

“I was told to report to room 212.” he boomed louder than he intended to. 

At the head of the table was a slouched and smirking elderly man. His face looked as though he had been scorched in some sort of fire that had warped his features. Other men and women sat around the table; a striking pair of men had their gazes targeted directly onto Matt. He felt so vulnerable and defenseless. 

“Matthew Solo,” the slouched man announced, “please, take a seat. There is much to discuss.”

With wary footsteps, Matt brought himself to sit in the seat directly across from the man at the head of the table. He felt his palms become clammy and start to shake. Looking around the table, he started to sweat under the many intense gazes he didn’t recognize. 

“Do you know who you’re sitting before?” the man asked to which Matt could only stupidly shake his head. 

“Young Solo, I am Snoke, the head of the Miniluv,” he responded, “and before you sits General Hux and Kylo Ren among with the rest of the Knights of Ren.”

Matt felt his jaw drop a little. He hadn’t ever thought he would be face to face with these iconic men and women he gawked over for years, just wishing he could join their ranks one day. He wasn’t surprised he recognized none of them- the Knights of Ren were known for being insanely mysterious in the way they always wore masks and were hardly ever seen. 

Matt gulped and regained his composure. Before he could ask any questions, Snoke held up a hand to him. 

“Comrade Hux will explain,” the man drawled. One of the men that had burned his ethereal gaze into Matt’s skull took this as his cue to stand. He had sharp and vibrant ginger hair accompanied by lovely sideburns that coursed down the sides of his pale and glowering face. 

“Matt Solo,” he began and Matt realized he had an accent uncommon in these regions, “among your comrades, you’ve been known to be the epitome of orthodox; you have never skipped out on a meeting at the community center,you have always arrived to work promptly at time, you worked for the Junior Anti-Sex league, and have attended every hanging in the streets that your shifts allowed you to. You are among the few completely and wholly loyal to the Party. It is because of Party members like you that allow us to carry out our duties and continue to thrive. It is because of your elite build and the proud manner in which you wear your signature blue overalls that-”

Hux was cut off by the other man that had stared straight through Matt’s soul when he walked in. The man stood up in a way that wasn’t quick, but it wasn’t slow either. He was tall, taller than Hux and standing what seemed to be taller than Matt. He had long and ravenesque hair that fell around his face in messy, glistening waves and a lengthy jagged scar running across his face.

“You’ve been selected to be a member of the Thought Police,” he snapped before sitting down. His voice sounded like he was on the verge of yelling, like he was just barely controlling himself. 

Hux looked down at the black-haired, muscular hulk of a man that spoke with a haughty and enraged glare. 

“Ren-” he began in his foreign accent but was silenced with the lazy wave of Snoke’s arm.

Matt just sat stupidly in his chair, eyes glued to the scene before him. 

“You will be given your patrol route via your telescreen tomorrow. You are relieved of your duties today. Being part of the Thought Police is a very tiring thing, young Solo” Snoke said. The blonde quickly stood up, remembering how high of a position all these people held. 

“Thank you all for selecting me for, uh, such a great duty. I won’t let you down. And, um, it’s an honor to serve Oceania.” the spew of words tumbled out of his mouth like throw up. Then he turned to face away from the horrifying eyes staring at him and towards the steely door from which he had entered. Internally, Matt was going wild. Finally, he had fooled everyone into thinking he was a perfectly orthodox member. And now he held a high ranked status among other Outer Party members. Except nobody would ever know. That was the fun of it. Secretly, he was duping them all. Matt’s face did nothing to let on to the euphoria within him. It reminded him of how the proles acted when they thought they got away with something.

But nobody ever actually got away with anything in society anymore, really.


End file.
